


We'll fall apart on the weekend

by cherryvanilla



Category: South Park
Genre: Boredom, Enemies to Lovers, High School, House Party, Karaoke, M/M, Making Out, Suburbia, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: It’s been four days. Four days since he made out with Eric Fucking Cartman on Butters parents’ love seat with the tinny ambiance of an Xbox Madden pause screen as their soundtrack.





	We'll fall apart on the weekend

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been in the works forever and it was supposed to be “5 times kyle and cartman made out at boring parties and one time they don’t use that as an excuse.” It’s mostly still that, barring the number of times. 
> 
> Titles and intertitles all by Blink 182, naturally. Standard warning for Cartman's everything.

Kyle decides to blame the entire thing on boredom. If he doesn't, then there’s simply no way to justify its happenstance. He supposed something, eventually, had to give; the mind numbing existence of living in South Park while _also_ being in high school has finally driven him mad. It’s the only answer. 

This is how Kyle explains away the first time. Only problem is it doesn't necessarily justify the other two times...  
___________________________

**1\. I’ll try to kiss you if you let me**

“This is lame,” Kyle says. 

“Tsk tsk, you know you can’t say that anymore, Kyle. Not after all those years of standing behind PC Principal.”

Kyle rolls his eyes as he looks around the party. “Please, Cartman. Like you've ever given a fuck about shit like that. Don't get self-righteous on me now, asshole.” 

“Except we're not talking about _me_ here, Jew, we’re talking about you and you have _morals_.”

Kyle groans loudly and downs the rest of his beer. It's another boring party on another boring Saturday night in which he’s having the same boring argument with Cartman and honestly, Kyle is tired of the monotony. “Let me save you the trouble: you call me a hypocrite, I call you a fat-ass, and we move on.” 

Cartman actually falters for a moment, before saying, “Alright, fine, whatever.” 

Kyle rolls his eyes yet again, and looks around _yet again as well_. Now even his own _actions_ are getting monotonous. This is terrible. Even stupid drinking games would be better than watching half his friends make out and the other half get high, but there’s no one even available for that. 

“I'm playing video games,” Kyle announces, pushing off the couch and heading up the stairs to Butters living room. They were at a party in the basement of _Butters_ house, that's how dire the situation is.

Kyle doesn't have to look over when the cushion dips a few minutes later and someone joins him.

“Ugh, move,” Kyle says, elbowing Cartman in the ribs as he crowds up against him on the loveseat. Why the hell The Scotchs even _have_ a loveseat is beyond him. It’s completely inpractical. 

“Whatever, let's play.”

So they do. It’s the latest NFL game and Cartman is as obnoxious as ever as he goes about picking his team. The noise from downstairs is muffled. Kyle can just barely make out the strands of The Used coming through the speakers, which means Stan is picking the music; he was in a super emo phase, Wendy having dumped him yet again. That made the sixth time this year alone. Kyle’s pretty damn sure a long overdue boombox moment would be rearing its ugly head again soon. 

Even Stan’s _emo_ phases have become mundane. 

“Aren’t you tired?” Kyle asks the air more so than Cartman. 

Cartman answers anyway. “Hell no I’m not tired, look how fast I’m running.” 

“I didn’t mean the game, fuckwad.”

“Well I’m sure not interested in getting introspective if I’m not even high, asshat.” 

Kyle tilts his head, eyes glancing over Cartman. “You could be. No one’s stopping you.”

Cartman’s shoulder jostles his as he shrugs. “Not feelin’ it tonight.” 

Kyle hums. Cartman smokes up a lot, mostly with Kenny. Kyle joins them sometimes, but it’s not totally his thing. Maybe he should make it his thing; at least it’d be something different. 

He groans and goes through the motions of the game. “Everything is exactly the same.” 

“What are you, a Nine Inch Nails song?” Cartman snorts. “I thought Stan was supposed to be the emo one.” 

Kyle throws down his controller. “I’m fucking tired, man. I’m sixteen and I shouldn’t be this tired.” 

Cartman pauses the game, sighing heavily. “You’re sixteen and you shouldn’t be this _whiny_. Jesus Christ, get over yourself.” 

Kyle turns to glare at him, but Cartman continues on. “So you live in South Park, so you’re bored. Big deal, go cry on someone else’s shoulder.”

Kyle’s blood begins to boil, a familiar feeling around Cartman. 

“You’re telling me this shit doesn’t get to you,” Kyle grits out. 

“ _You_ get to me! Fuck, Kyle, go do something different if it bugs you so much.”

“There’s nothing different to do! That’s the point!” He waves his arms in the air, and is about to stand up and leave this dumb hellscape when Cartman curses under his breath and grabs both his hands, pulling Kyle against his side.

“There’s this, asshole.” And then Cartman’s lips are on his. Kyle's eyes are still open, shocked wide. It’s definitely different and Kyle has no idea why he hasn’t pulled away yet. This is Cartman kissing him. Disgusting, obnoxious Cartman. 

And Kyle’s letting it happen. More than letting it as his eyes fall shut and his lips begin to move against Cartman’s. It’s just pressure but it’s getting wetter. Cartman’s lips are slick with spit. Kyle's mouth drags against them, until Cartman lets out a small, low sound that might be a moan, and kisses him harder, his tongue right there against the seam of Kyle’s lips. 

_Oh god_ , Kyle thinks. This is happening, this is really happening. And as he parts his lips and lets Cartman’s tongue carefully explore the inside of his mouth he can’t think of anything but _at least something unpredictable is happening for a change._  
_____________________

**2\. This awkward silence makes me crazy**

It’s been four days. Four days since he made out with Eric Fucking Cartman on Butters parents’ love seat with the tinny ambiance of an Xbox Madden pause screen as their soundtrack. Kyle still has no idea how long it went on for. Long enough for him to lose his hat at some point. Long enough for his lips to feel raw and his hair to get mussed. They didn’t speak; it felt like they barely even breathed. And then there had been shouting from the basement, Wendy and Stan having one of their epic dramatic interfaces, and the sound of footsteps on the stairs by onlookers obviously attempting to escape said drama. 

Kyle had pulled away abruptly, Cartman’s mouth still on his neck and his hand still on Kyle’s ribs, blindly grabbed his hat and didn’t look back. For the past two days they’ve ignored one another at the bus stop, which is not _entirely_ unusual and therefore it has yet to rouse any suspicion from Stan or Kenny. 

Kyle’s kept his earphones in and Cartman’s played Pokemon Go on his phone and they’ve pretended the other doesn’t exist. At school it’s been easier as their schedules only overlap for lunch and Spanish. At lunch Kyle threw a football with Stan while Kenny and Cartman sit behind the blacktop wall and smoke. In Spanish, he focused on conjugating verbs and ignored Cartman’s repetitive lamenting over Casa Bonita, which closed down last year. 

But it’s Wednesday, which means hump day, which means everyone starts talking about weekend plans. 

“Party at my house this Friday, you guys,” Stan is saying while Kyle’s periphery unwittingly focuses on Cartman’s as they stand at the bus stop. Particularly Cartman’s hands as his fingers fly over the screen of his phone. 

_Those fingers were on my neck, my shoulders, my waist_. 

He shakes off the unbidden (horrifying, yeah, horrifying) thoughts while his brain catches up to Stan’s words. 

“Wait, what? Since when do _you_ throw parties, dude?” 

Stan sighs. “Since my parents are going to Denver to visit Shelly at school this weekend and I need to make a grand gesture to Wendy.” 

“Stan, don’t serenade her with shitty 80s songs on the Karaoke machine. Please don’t.” 

“It worked that one time, Kyle!” 

“Stan, this is incredibly lame even for you,” Cartman replies flatly, not taking his eyes off his phone. Kyle’s pulse jumps in his neck at the sound of his voice. 

_This is fucking ridiculous_. 

“So why do _we_ have to be there?” 

Stan glares at Kyle. “So it’s not obvious what I’m up to. And for moral support! Bebe’s going to invite her, and as long as she comes I’m golden.” 

“Maybe if you could make her come we wouldn’t be here,” Kenny mumbles. 

Cartman lets out a guffaw, Kyle rolls his eyes, and Stan just glares some more.  
_________________________

By the time Friday night rolls around Kyle has worked himself up into a state of panic and he’s still managed to say nothing to Cartman all week, not even insults. Yesterday Stan finally caught on. 

(“You two are acting weird.”

“Your face is weird!” blurted Cartman. Not his best comeback.

“We’re fine!” Kyle shouted at the same time. 

“Ooookay. I’m just saying if it’s so easy for you guys to ignore each other then I don’t get why you couldn’t have been doing that for the last eight years and saved everyone the drama.”

Cartman flushed and went back to his phone. Kyle tried and failed once again to not watch his hands.)

It’s anything but easy to ignore Cartman, is the thing. It’s in Kyle’s genetic makeup to fling disgusted outbursts his way. Yelling at Eric Cartman is ingrained into his core, as natural as breathing. 

And if he’s truly honest with himself, he hasn’t just wanted to yell at him. He’s wanted to... 

No. He can’t even say it to himself. It’s absolutely ridiculous. He’d just been bored. People resort to dire circumstances in instances of extreme boredom. Yeah, that sounds like a thing. That’s all it had been.

It still doesn’t stop his hands from shaking as he arrives at Stan’s house. 

“Dude, I have no idea what song to sing to get her back,” is what Stan says as he opens the door. 

“Hello to you too, Stan.” Kyle pushes his way inside. There’s only a few people so far. Kyle doesn’t see Cartman. 

_Maybe he won’t show up._

“Kyle! This is an emergency!” 

Kyle sighs. “Why do you never plan ahead?” 

Kyle grabs the karaoke book from atop the machine and flips through it. He studiously ignores “I Swear” as he passes All 4 One in the A’s, an involuntary shiver running through him at the memory.

“How about Bryan Adams? Classic.”

“Predictable,” Stan counters. 

“Because you’re _so_ unpredictable.”

The doorbell rings. It’s Cartman and Butters. Kyle meets his eyes, cheeks heating. He walks off to get a soda as Stan begins monopolizing them with his karaoke dilemma. 

“I’ve always found I Swear to be a classic,” Kyle hears Cartman deadpan. He bangs his head against the door of the refrigerator before leaning his body into it. 

“Would you two like a moment alone?” 

He jumps at Kenny, sitting on the floor under the table with a joint in his mouth. 

“Dude, how long have you been here?” 

Kenny shrugs. “A while.”

“Why are you under the table?” 

Kenny squints at him. “Why are you standing up? Why are any of us even here?”

Kenny always gets super existential when high. It’s rather infruitating. 

“I’m here for a soda,” Kyle replies flatly. 

“You’ve been weird this week.” 

“So I’ve heard,” he mutters. 

“Cartman too.”

Kyle shrugs. 

“I don’t wanna know, honestly. But it’s annoying as fuck.”

“We’re not even talking!” Kyle exclaims, waving his hands around. 

“Yeah, exactly. It’s annoying.” 

Kyle huffs and goes back to the living room. 

More people have shown up. Stan is talking a poll whether to sing “Without You” or “All Out of Love”.

“I told you, douche, sing One Last Try.” Cartman says.

“That song is gay, Cartman.”

“Wow. For a progressive hippie, Stan, you sure are homophobic.”

Stan groans. “No you asswipe, I mean it’s literally gay. That’s just a fact. It’s by George Michael, and the teacher he’s singing about is clearly a dude. Plus, it doesn’t even fit this scenario!” 

“So nonspecific love songs are _gendered_ now, Stan?” 

“Oh stand back everyone, Heidi’s got a cause to bitch about!” 

“I hate you, Eric.” 

Cartman smiles at her sweetly. “I hate you more.”

“Yo, Cartman, if you like the song so much why don’t you just serenade Kyle again,” Token chimes in, unhelpfully. 

Cartman goes uncharacteristically silent, eyes wide. Then he looks right at Kyle. 

“I-I have no interest in being serenaded!” Kyle stutters before heading back to the damn kitchen again. The monotony might kill him. 

Thirty minutes later the house has gotten louder, darker and hotter as most of Junior class have arrived by now. 

It’s really sad that literally no one in this town has anything better to do tonight. 

Kyle meanders from room to room, bored as hell. 

He drinks a beer, and then decides to hide in Stan’s room when the Karaoke starts. Except someone is already in Stan’s room. 

“Shut the damn door, Jew, my ears are bleeding from this shit.”

Craig and Tweek are singing “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart.” It… isn’t great.

Kyle nearly backs out of the room, but honestly it’s a nightmare out there. He steps fully inside and shuts the door. 

Cartman’s sitting on Stan’s floor, playing Red Dead Redemption 4. It kind of peaked at RDD2, in Kyle’s opinion. He sits on the bed because… well, just because. 

They don’t talk. 

“Twenty bucks she doesn’t take him back,” Cartman says after ten minutes of silence and Kyle watching his back move as he plays the game. 

“She always takes him back.”

“Idiots, the both of them.”

Kyle hums. 

Another five minutes of silence. It’s not like them to be so… companionable. It’s fucked up, honestly. Kyle hates it. 

“You bored again?” Cartman’s voice sounds weird. 

Yes,, Kyle is bored. Incredibly bored. And his dick is a little hard. Fuck. 

“Maybe.” He pauses before adding “Fat-ass,” for good measure. 

Cartman makes a non-committal noise before pressing pause and putting down the controller. In a flash Kyle’s being pressed into the mattress and kissed within an inch of his life, his now empty beer can clattering to the floor. 

“Mmmph,” he says and but whatever it was meant to be is muffled by Cartman's lips. 

Cartman’s stupidly soft lips. They should be dry and cracked. His breath should be nasty. This is Cartman. But all Kyle tastes is Doritos and beer and the faintness of cigarettes. And all he fucking wants is to kiss him harder, deeper. So he does. 

It’s so much different from the first time. They’re pressed together, from head to toe and fuck, Cartman’s crotch is grinding against his own and he’s half-hard in his jeans too.

At the first recognition that he’s feeling Cartman’s dick against his Kyle wants to bolt. He’s never been interested in girls. Two years ago he realized he likes dudes. But there’s liking dudes and there’s making out with Eric Cartman. 

It makes sense in a way. Kyle gets it. All that energy spent on Cartman. Thinking about him all the time. Noticing when he began to grow into his face, get more angular, taller. And then of course, coming home from the party last week and jerking off in his bed, hand pressed to his mouth while he tried and failed to not think of Cartman.

Now he can do nothing _but_ think of Cartman. Cartman’s lips as they move against his, Cartman's legs as they slot between his own. Kyle parts his lips first this time, tongue slipping between Cartman’s own. 

“Oh fuck,” Cartman gasps and then they’re kissing hard and fast, surging into one another like it’s the last day on earth and they’ll never get to do this again. Kyle vaguely realizes that’s the first thing that’s been spoken between, them both this time and last. He groans at the thought and fists his hand in Cartman’s too soft hair. Cartman’s broad over him, nearly overwhelming. And fuck, it shouldn’t be so hot to be pressed into the mattress by the weight of his body. 

“God,” Cartman pants, breaking away to suck at Kyle’s jaw, licking down to the side of his neck. His dick is fully hard now, and Kyle’s own is straining against his zipper. Cartman’s pulls his hat off and drags his fingers through Kyle’s curls. “Shit,” he whispers, and goes back to attacking Kyle’s neck. 

Kyle blinks, unfocused, at the ceiling. Someone’s breathing heavily and he realizes it’s him. It all feels so good. Cartman’s lips on his neck, the warmth of his breathe making Kyle shiver, his nails dragging against Kyle’s scalp. He can’t say anything though. It feels unfathomable to actually tell Cartman how damn great this is, or to make any noise at all. 

Which is of course when Cartman notices. 

“You awake up there?” He mumbles as he tongues the base of Kyle’s throat. “Still bored?”

Kyle tries for a disinterested hum but it comes out as a strangled moan. 

“Thought so.” And _ugh, great_ , just what he needs. A smug Cartman in bed. 

Kyle drags him upwards and kisses him again, open, wet and dirty from the start. It has the desired effect; Cartman groans into his mouth and pushes their dicks together harder. 

The song in the living room changes, and they both pull away immediately, staring at each other. 

“Is that—“

“Is he—“

He indeed is. Stan is singing “Everytime” by Britney Spears. 

“Oh dear god.”

Cartman snorts and nuzzles (nuzzles!) his nose against Kyle’s throat. “It’s a true classic of our time.”

Kyle lets out a genuine laugh and then a soft sigh as Cartman drags his tongue down the side of his neck, his fingers flexing in Cartman’s hair. 

“Eric! Eric, you gotta—“

They have just enough time to shove away from each other, rolling to the edges of Stan’s bed and sitting up before Butters flies in.

“Oh! Heya, Kyle. Uh, what’s goin’ on?”

Kyle bites his lip and drags his hand through his fucked-up hair.

“Was just kickin’ the Jew’s ass.”

Cartman looks at Kyle pointedly before Kyle gets it. 

“Oh! Ughhh, you motherfucker, Cartman!” He shouts as he curls up into a fetal position acting like Cartman just punched him in the gut. 

“Aww, now c’mon fellas. Can’t we all just get along?”

Cartman lets out a disgusted sound and moves to sit at the end of the bed. “What’re you doing here, Butters?”

“Oh! Well you gotta see it! Stan’s singing Britney because Wendy loves her and Wendy's crying!”

“Of course she is,” Kyle mutters. 

“Be out in a minute.” Cartman sounds tired. 

“Okie dokie!”

The door closes and Cartman’s eyes meet his. 

Kyle’s erection pretty much wilted from fear when the door opened but his dick twitches as Cartman keeps looking at him. 

“So.”

“Yeah.”

Cartman opens his mouth, then closes it. “Thanks for killin’ time with me, Jew boy.”

Then he walks out, unsubtly adjusting his jeans. Kyle falls onto his back and wonders if he’d been about to say something else.  
__________________________

**3\. The look in your eyes makes me crazy**

They don’t ignore each other the next week. If anything they antagonize one another more than they have in recent memory. Except it feels like some fucked-up version of foreplay. It’s thrilling and ridiculous and Kyle has never hated or wanted someone more in his sixteen years of living. 

“Well, at least things are back to normal around here,” Stan says at the bus stop. It isn’t even dry and sarcastic, because Stan got laid all weekend. Kyle doesn’t tell him that he dry humped Cartman in his bed before he and Wendy got there.

Kyle, on the other hand, probably set a new record this weekend for the most times jerking off in a forty-eight hour period. 

Next weekend is Halloween and Bebe’s throwing the party this time. Kyle is actually looking forward to it. He tells himself it’s just because he’s always liked Halloween and nothing more. 

He decides to go as a ginger kid just to fuck with Cartman. Wendy and Stan go as Jim and Tammy Fay Bakker. It’s... weird. Kenny decides to be Patrick Swayze in Point Break which simply means walking around in board shorts without a shirt. Bebe is highly appreciative, if the way they’re practically fucking in the hallway is anything to go by. 

Cartman shows up late and in a Mr. Garrison mask with orange-ish hair. Kyle wants to vomit. 

He looks at Kyle as they stand in front of the snacks table and says, “If you think I’m groping your ginger ass you’ve got another thing coming, day walker.”

Kyle’s mouth drops open, and he looks around them quickly as he both flushes _and_ glares. “Yeah, well, if you think I’m kissing _you_ with that mask on keep on dreaming, butthole.”

Five minutes later they’re pressed inside Bebe’s parents’ coat closet. Cartman’s lost the mask and he’s trying in vain to rub the freckles off Kyle’s cheeks even as he sucks Kyle’s tongue into his mouth. 

Kyle moans into his mouth, unable to stop it. Cartman pauses for a moment, and then his hands slide down to Kyle’s ass for the first time, pulling him in tight even as he traps Kyle against the back of the door. Kyle’s own hands are probably going to be stained orange, but he can’t stop running them through Cartman’s hair and tugging.

“If anyone comes in imma murder them,” Cartman whispers hotly against Kyle’s mouth. It shouldn’t make his dick twitch. 

“Stop talking,” Kyle whispers back. He presses his lips to Cartman's jaw and drags them down his neck. Cartman groans out a low, “oh, fuck, yes,” and Kyle tries not to think about how this is the first time he’s truly taken the initiative. 

Cartman’s skin tastes like horrible cologne. Kyle can’t help but breathe him in and suck at his neck. 

“You’d better not leave a mark, you ginger vampire.”

Kyle bites him hard just for that. 

Cartman cups his cheek in his hand and turns Kyle’s face up. Kyle’s heart flips in chest before Cartman's lips descend again. He begins a slow grind against Kyle’s hip and Kyle’s pretty sure that whimper came from his own throat. 

“Fuck. Fuck, Kyle, I wanna make you come.”

The words, hushed and heavy with intent make Kyle realize where they are and who he’s with. He pushes Cartman away, blinking fast. “I. I can’t do this.” 

It’s dark in the closet but Kyle can swear he sees Cartman's eyes flash. “Jesus Christ, do you hate me so much you’d turn down an orgasm?”

“I don’t hate you!” The words are automatic, unbidden and worst of all, true. 

“Fuck,” Kyle whispers and gets the fuck out of the closet. 

He passes Kenny in the hall—stumbling out of Bebe’s bedroom with his board shorts askew on his hips—just as Cartman opens the closet door. 

Kenny looks back and forth between them. Kyle can practically see the lightbulb go on above his head. 

“Dude. Wait, no way. _Dude_.” 

“I can’t do this,” Kyle repeats and bolts.  
___________________________

He stares at himself for a long time in the mirror when he gets home, even after he’s washed all the freckles off. 

The thing is, he can’t remember when he stopped hating Cartman. It isn’t a recent thing. He’s just never consciously realized it before. 

And now Cartman knows before Kyle can even process anything. It’s fucking embarrassing. What’s even more embarrassing is that he wasn’t even bored tonight. He just wanted to make out with Cartman, terrible costume and all. 

Kyle’s phone chimes from his night table as he’s climbing into bed. 

_Dude, Cartman got really fucking drunk on cheap beer and is like, all maudlin and shit bc you don’t hate him yet you don’t like him enough to let him touch ur dick. I never needed to have this conversation. No amount of weed or awesome sex with bebe couldve made this conversation ok._

“Jesus Christ.”

His phone chimes again. 

_So his moms out of town with her new boyfriend and cartmans gonna throw an All Saints Day/I've got the house to myself party tomorrow but it’s basically a “imma throw a boring party so maybe he’ll make out with me again make him come over Kenny” party bc it’s possible he told me that so like maybe you should go and let yourself get laid this weekend man. That’s all I’m gonna say. And we’re never talking about this again._

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle whispers again. Cartman’s throwing a party because he thinks it’s the only way Kyle will kiss him? That is the dumbest grand gesture ever, dumber than all of Stan’s attempts at winning back Wendy combine. 

Kyle shouldn’t go on principle, to prove shitty parties don’t immediately equal semi-drunken makeouts. 

And that’s when he realizes he’d kiss Cartman without the guise. That he left tonight because he was terrified by how much he wanted to say yes. 

Kyle takes a deep breath and opens a new message. 

_I don’t need a party to make out with you, you manipulative little shit._

_Prove it_ , Cartman responds after a long silence. 

“Shit.” 

_Well. Here goes nothing._

He climbs out his bedroom window and down the tree, then walks the long length of the block to Cartman's house. 

He knocks on the door since his mom isn’t home. He knocks five times. 

“God dammit Cartman, open the door!” Kyle finally shouts. 

Cartman does. He’s wearing sweatpants and Terrance and Phillip shirt. This is the person Kyle’s attracted to. “Well, well. Someone’s eager for it.”

“I hate you,” scowls Kyle.

“You dramatically declared you don’t, so try again.”

“Fuck you,” Kyle grits out, before pulling Cartman in by his stupid shirt all while pushing his way into the hous and closing the door behind him. They’re kissing immediately. Kyle’s back is against the door and Cartman is big and broad over him, licking wet and slow into his mouth. Kyle might be able to get used to this. He might want to wrap his legs around Cartman’s waist and see just how long he could hold him up for. 

“You’re fucking infuriating,” Kyle gasps against his mouth. 

“So are you.”

“You make me insane.” His lips slide along Cartman’s cheek, breathing gone shallow. 

“Same.” Cartman's voice is just as breathless. 

Kyle presses his nose to his neck. “Dammit, I want you so much.”

Cartman lets out a broken moan and palms Kyle’s ass before licking a slow line up to his ear. “Took you long enough.” 

Kyle’s laughter when it comes borders on hysterical. He has no idea how he’s going to possibly explain this to anyone. He can barely explain it to himself, except for the fact that it was probably always inevitable. 

Cartman sucks at his ear, tugging on the lobe. “Can we touch each other’s dicks now, please?” 

“Thought you’d never ask,” Kyle replies before Cartman lifts him up and carries —caveman style—to the bed. Kyle hits his back the whole time, yelling for him to put him down. He can’t believe he’s actively going to sleep with this asshole. 

They don’t leave Cartman’s bed all weekend. Kyle’s pretty sure they set the record for the most amount of orgasms between two people in a forty-eight hour period. 

He isn’t bored once.  
_________________________

“Homecoming is next weekend,” Stan announces. “Party at Butters. His parents are away at conference and he wants to support the fact that it’s no longer homecoming queen and king but homecoming persons, meaning Craig and Tweek both have a shot.”

“God damn PC Principal,” Cartman mutters. 

“Shut up, fat-ass, it’s nice. And an important statement.”

“Yes, dear.” Cartman deadpans before huffing out an aggravated sigh. “Fine, we’ll go to Butters boring as fuck party. Besides, we love those kinds the most. Amirite, babe?”

Cartman winks and Kyle flushes. They’re also holding hands, because Cartman is a romantic about shit like that. Kyle could take or leave PDAs, but he supposes it is kind of nice. 

Kenny and Stan both groan as the bus pulls up. “I can’t believe this is the new normal,” says Stan. 

“Me neither!” Kenny chirps. 

Honestly, neither can Kyle. It’s been anything but dull, though, that’s for sure. 

The End.


End file.
